


His Fire, His Flame, His Treasure

by chibi_nightowl



Series: The Adventures of Sir Timothy Drake [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternative Methods of Healing, Dragons, M/M, Magic, Quests, Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: How exactly did humans heal from horrific injuries? This was a question Jason needed answers to and fast, because if he was any judge of things, then Tim's fever was definitely getting higher and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.Except swallow his pride and call for help.





	His Fire, His Flame, His Treasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redrobinfection (ChristmasRivers)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristmasRivers/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Red! You asked for some Sir Tim sickfic and here you are! Enjoy!

There were a few times in his long life that he could be said to have felt fear. His mother being murdered right before his young eyes was the first. The second came hot on the heels of that, when J’onn found him cowering beside her still warm body. That fear soon disappeared under his and M’yri’ah’s tender care. The one other time barely registered in his consciousness now, the fear of a young dragon taking his first flight disappearing under the exhilaration of the wind catching beneath his wings to send him soaring. 

But now, here with his treasure, the one he had spent all his life waiting for without even recognizing that  _he_  was the piece his soul was missing, he knew fear once more. 

“Tim,” he rumbled, running his claws lightly through the man’s sweat dampened hair. “Wake up.” 

The human stirred, but his pale blue eyes remained shut. 

“Tim, wake the fuck up,” he tried again, silently cursing the fact that he himself ran so warm he could not tell if his chosen was running what the healer, Lady Leslie, called a low fever versus a high one.

Growling, he rose from Tim’s sickbed to pull the cord to summon a servant. Waiting was a challenge, but he refused to leave his chosen’s side. He used the time to clothe himself, not wanting to be chastised by Tim again over showing so much skin. 

These humans put too much store into modesty, and while he derived great amusement in everyone’s discomfort over his bare skin, now wasn’t the time for teasing. 

A quiet knock on the door came as he finished tying the laces on his sleeves. 

He crossed the chamber in a few swift strides. The opened door revealed a pleasantly buxom female, a trait he found most attractive in this race. But his heart beat for another now, so unless they both agreed a third person was welcome into their bed, he would only share himself with the ailing human behind him. It was the way of mates.

“Lord Drake is feverish again. I require the healer.” 

The woman bobbed a quick curtsey. “Yes, Lord Jason. I will inform her right away.” 

She left without any sign that she was nervous in the presence of a dragon, even one in a human form with horns and eyes that glowed. So many of the people here gave him wide berth when they saw him in the corridors, which admittedly wasn’t very often. 

Lord Jason. The name still made him want to laugh because he sure as fuck was no lord. He was a master of the winds. For the longest time, it was the only title that mattered to him, until he met Roy, the half-elven archer who taught him what true friendship really was.

The full name of a dragon was a gift few outside their race were ever blessed with as their names were not given but discovered as they aged and grew into their powers. Ja’son was part of his, derived from the name his mother called him. Prior to meeting Tim, less than a handful of non-dragons could claim this knowledge. Now here he was in a building full of humans using it, even if they weren’t saying it right.

Sighing, he returned to Tim’s side. He seemed to have some difficulties taking a deep breath, but whether that was from the fever or the bandages wrapped around his chest, he could not tell. Carefully, he shoved a few pillows behind Tim to prop him up higher in the bed, which seemed to help. 

So fragile, these humans. The next time he molted, they would take some of his scales and go to the City of Stars where he would commission one of the elven smiths to forge and craft some proper armor for his chosen. Lightweight enough that it would not be a burden to wear, and stronger even than a coat of mithril. 

Yes, this idea pleased him, and he growled in satisfaction as he resumed his seat beside his fitfully slumbering human. 

Perhaps some of his medicine would help. It was mixed into a pitcher of watered down wine, a goblet of which sat almost untouched on the table beside the bed.  Hydration was also important, he remembered the healer telling him. He held it up to Tim’s lips, wetting them slightly in hopes that he would open his mouth for a real drink. 

This time, Tim opened his eyes, pale slits glaring blearily at him. He didn’t look happy. 

Tough shit. 

“Drink,” he said softly, adding a low rumble that Tim always responded to. “Your fever’s gotten worse.” 

No words fell from Tim’s lips, but he opened his mouth wider and took a few weak swallows. The fact that he didn’t complain spoke volumes over how he felt as the wine tasted foul and reeked even worse to his sensitive nose. 

This simple effort clearly exhausted Tim and he settled back into his pillows. “I’m cold,” he said, his voice pitched no higher than a whisper. 

There were three blankets on the bed, all kicked down to the bottom and out of his reach. 

“You humans are so strange when you’re sick,” he commented, setting the goblet aside and retrieving the soft coverlets. “Hot, then cold. Make up your damned mind.” 

Tim smiled faintly, and his heart soared. “You could always snuggle with me.” 

Tempting as it was, he shook his head. “I think you did too much yesterday.” 

There was the visit from the princess knight Helena and the Kandorian prince he would like to drop from a great height for having the audacity to touch what was  _his_ , even if he did have a prior claim. That claim no longer mattered according to them both, but it still irked him immensely to hear Tim’s heart beat just a little bit faster when he saw his friend. Then there was the meeting with the king, Bruce of Wayne and his first mentor, Dick Grayson, the man who would become the new Duke of Drake. 

Grayson was a man he’d like to get to know better, curious as to how he helped shape and mold Tim into the man he’d become. He was also Mar’i’s sire, which spoke volumes about his character as Koriand’r of Tamaran was not a Fae who would suffer the normal foolishness of humans. 

He still thought that was rather funny, how the Tamaraneans pretended to be at least partially human, passing off their magics as wild talents. It must have pissed off Tim’s bitch of a mother immensely when she learned the new wife of her son’s tutor was a Tamaranean. They lived and breathed magic, she had to have known that. He would not be surprised to learn if part of why Tamaran had been destroyed was because it was home to some of the most powerful earth mages left in the world. 

The only talent that could take down Ra’s and the lich who murdered his mother.

“Probably,” Tim agreed, drawing his thoughts back to the present. “But it needed to be done.” Unconsciously, his hand closed tight over the signet ring he still wore. His father’s ring. His grandfather’s ring. The line went back unbroken for several hundred years, even before there was a duchy. Giving up everything he was had not been an easy decision and it was very likely the king and the new duke would not let it slide so easily. 

Tim was loved here. Respected. Appreciated for his talents and gifts, even if he did not see this for himself. 

He preened quietly. He’d recognized it almost immediately and had staked his claim. The fact that the soon-to-be mage was also his most prized treasure, his to care for, his to claim, his to fight beside as equals, excited him more than anything had in all his centuries of life. 

“Didn’t have to be when there are still bloody bandages on your chest. I bet they would have been willing to wait another day or two.” The meeting had been a mistake, one he would not have made if he hadn’t been high from being claimed and well fucked by his chosen.

It was a shame he couldn’t find a way to blame this on the Kandorian. 

He rested a hand over Tim’s brow, brushing aside his damp bangs.

Tim welcomed his touch, nuzzling sleepily against his hand. “Perhaps not,” he said sleepily. 

A brisk knock at the door was all the warning they had before Lady Leslie marched in. “Good, you have clothes on this time,” she said in a no-nonsense voice and shooed him off the bed. 

Growling low, he stood to the side as the healer spoke to Tim, who tried to answer her questions, but seemed to be losing what little grasp on consciousness he had. His answers slurred more and more until they finally stopped. 

Under different circumstances, he felt he could grow to like this woman. As it was, she clearly did not approve of him, although that could just be her default expression since she was always frowning and glaring whenever she came to check on Tim. 

“How long has he been like this?” she asked him, shifting her attention from the now slumbering human. 

“He’s been fussing with the covers for a couple hours,” he replied. “Look, I know this is gonna be a dumb question, but how can you tell when a fever is too high?” 

Leslie frowned even harder before stopping and letting out a wry chuckle. “You wouldn’t know this, would you? Come around here and give me your hand.” 

He cautiously walked around the bed and held out his hand to the old healer. His dark claws stood out in stark contrast to her neatly trimmed nails. 

“Interesting,” she said, taking his large hand into her much smaller one. “This is your resting state?” 

“Yeah. Tim’s said sleeping next to me is better than any blanket or fire.” He took careful note of how Leslie’s hand felt in his. There was a slight difference between her body temperature and Tim’s, one he wouldn’t normally pick up on if he wasn’t looking for it. 

“I can see that.” Leslie raised their hands to her forehead and pressed the back of his against her skin. “We take a temperature this way, sliding it down along the hairline and into the neck.” 

She demonstrated, and he repeated it again on his own before sitting beside Tim to do it to him. 

“There’s not much of a difference,” he said, giving the healer a curious look. 

Leslie shook her head. “No, there isn’t. When the body’s core temperature moves too much in either direction, it can kill us.” 

“Isn’t there some way to accurately measure what it is?” He knew of devices used in the City of Stars for such things. There was one Roy even showed him that monitored the changes in atmospheric pressure that preceded a storm, something he and other creatures of the wild felt instinctively. 

“No, at least not within my realm of experience. I’ve been a healer all my life and while I can teach others what to look for, only a touch healer like myself can tell for certain when a body is too hot or too warm.” Leslie returned her attention to Tim. “Lord Drake is much too warm. The infection that I feared would come from his burns is setting in. I need you to move him to the infirmary so that I can better care for and monitor him.” 

He could not stop the growl from rising up in his throat. “Where he goes, I go.” 

Leslie did not appear pleased, but clearly recognized it was pointless to argue. “Just keep out of my way.” 

~*~*~ 

That was easier said than done. 

Here in the healer’s domain, even in the well-lit and well-ventilated patient rooms, Leslie was everywhere. This was her realm, her kingdom, and even Bruce stepped cautiously to the side. 

“I understand Lord Timothy has been taken by a fever?” the man asked later that evening, still dressed in his robes of state.

He nodded, looking up from the book he’d brought when he moved Tim here. It was the elven book he’d given him to read, the one his chosen was still slowly working his way through. “Lady Leslie says he has an infection from the energy burns.” 

Bruce took a seat in the chair on the other side of Tim’s bed. He watched as the older man carefully took hold of his chosen’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I haven’t told Helena or Kon-El that Timothy’s condition has changed. Once they find out, I am certain your peace and quiet will be disturbed, and often.” 

He growled low and tried to keep his smoke back, not wanting to irritate Tim’s lungs. “I’m only here on Lady Leslie’s sufferance. If they can sneak past her, then they have to face me. I have no problems with throwing either of them out that fuckin’ window if they bother Tim.” 

They were on the second floor at the back of the castle where it overlooked the massive herb garden maintained by the healer and her apprentices. Tim’s friends wouldn’t be hurt. Much. If he got to toss the Kandorian out, he’d make sure to put some effort into it to see if he could clear the outer wall. 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.” Bruce sighed and looked down at Tim’s still flushed face. The cool, damp cloth needed to be changed and he reached for it only to be stopped by the king, who took care of it himself, laying it back in a tender way that bespoke a much deeper bond between the king and his subject. 

He was absolutely right in his belief that Tim was much more important to his kingdom than he himself thought. “Why did you let him give it up?” he asked when Bruce settled back into his chair. “He would have stayed if you had given him a reason to.” 

Bruce was silent for a time, pondering his words. “I’ve known for quite some time that Timothy is special, that his talents were utterly wasted back home. While this adventure isn’t what I wanted for him, I believe it’s exactly what he needs in order to thrive.” 

There wasn’t anything he could say in response to that, so he nodded, accepting the answer for what it was. Honest and heartfelt truth. 

“Tim wants you to read those journals,” he said after a few minutes. “If you’re up for it, that is. Some of the things in them… well, I’ve heard you’re all about justice, so only you can decide if a trial in absentia is worth it.”

The king stirred and turned his heavy gaze from Tim. “I would like to. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for Timothy to read them, but I would like to know more about what happened to my father. All these years, we thought it was simply his heart giving out on him. To learn that he was murdered…” Bruce sighed and shook his head. “I’m still not sure what to think about that.”

“There’s plenty of time to figure that out. They’re in the wardrobe in our room if you want them.”

Leslie arrived not long after, a container of some pungent ointment in her hands, as well as fresh bandages and some other device he couldn’t determine the purpose of. “Your Majesty,” she said, barely bobbing a curtsey under her burdens.

“Lady Leslie,” Bruce returned, rising to his feet. “I think I will just be in the way, so I’ll head out.” He glanced over at him. “I’ll have a word with Helena and see if she can’t keep Kon under control. Good night, Jason. Leslie.” He nodded to them both and left the room. 

The healer set her container down in the chair Bruce vacated. “If you’re going to stay here, I expect you to help.” 

He set aside his book. “I have no idea how to do this, but I want to learn. I think I need to if Tim is to travel with me.” 

“That is the smartest thing I’ve heard you say,” Leslie replied. “I don’t expect much out of you while Lord Drake is this far gone, but if you truly mean to learn, I have some books that can help you get started. Can you read my tongue?” 

This wasn’t an insult against his intelligence, but it was hard not to take it as such. “Lady Leslie, I can read all the tongues that I speak.” 

“Good. Now wash your hands. We need to change this bandage and apply a different poultice to draw out the infection.” 

He held up his hands and blew a low stream of fire directly onto them, paying particular attention to his claws. When he was done, Leslie was staring intently at him, her face twisted in surprise. 

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to do it,” she offered. 

“Fire cleanses and purifies better than any  soap and water.” 

Leslie huffed. “True enough. But I have my own way of doing it.” She held up her own hands and a pale green light shimmered briefly over the surface of her skin. 

The light reminded him of the green power that flashed through Tim’s aura and he suddenly remembered there was a connection between earth mages and healers as the source of their power both derived from life energy. Would Tim be a healer when he was trained? It was an interesting thought, but he didn’t see how a healer could defeat Ra’s.

He waited, watching closely as Leslie unlaced the front of Tim’s shirt. 

“Hold him up for me, gently,” she said. 

In his arms, the weight of his human felt as though it were no more than one of his heavier tomes. Under the healer’s guidance, he helped her unwind the bandages from around Tim’s chest. 

The foul smell of infection hit his nose even before it was revealed. 

“Lay him back down,” Leslie instructed.

He did so and choked back the bile that rose up his throat at the sight of the angry red wound on his chosen’s torso. 

“It’s not as bad as I feared,” the healer said after a few moments. “Yes, it’s festered in a few places, but do you see this? And this?” She pointed to places where the tissue looked like nothing more than a raw side of bacon. “That’s healing nicely. Good blood flow and the flesh will soon scar over.” 

“Then where is that smell coming from?” he growled, swallowing his smoke. He would need to let it out soon. “It smells like rot.”

“Here, around the edges.” Leslie gestured to a few areas that appeared to be dark bruises under Tim’s skin. “There is fluid building up, which I’ll clean out before we bandage Lord Drake back up.”

“How do you do that?” 

“It needs to be lanced.” She held up the unknown device from before. “If you would pass this through your fire to sterilize it, we can get started.” 

~*~*~

“Arnica.” 

“External use only for easing sprains, muscle aches, and bruises,” he recited. 

“Burdock.” 

“Edible, used mostly for digestive issues, but has an external use as well for certain skin conditions.” 

He’d spent the night reading the herbal compendium one of Leslie’s apprentices had brought between rousing Tim hourly to make him drink something. It was interesting, learning about the different properties of these small plants and how they could be used by humans for healing. 

Leslie took it upon herself to test his memory as they tended his chosen and seemed to be pleased with it. He was happy that the book contained detailed drawings of these plants; at least now he wouldn’t accidently poison Tim like he almost had during their journey here. 

His treasure did not appear any better, even with the gentle morning sunlight streaming in through the window he’d opened at the healer’s request. The scent of infection was stronger than last night’s when she peeled back the bandage. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, frowning harder than he’d ever seen her before. “Everything I’m doing, this has all worked on other burns I’ve treated, some even worse than Lord Drake’s.” 

“Were any of those caused by a mage?” he asked, feeling it was a valid question. 

The old woman paused, thinking. “No, they weren’t. I’ve scoured my books and scrolls, so what am I missing here? What makes a magical wound harder to treat than a normal one?” 

It hit him then, his own bolt out of the blue. On a shelf in his den, high up near the back of the main cavern where he kept some of his more unusual finds. An elvish medical text, one that discussed the nature of mage craft and medicine. It was not a book he’d read, otherwise he’d be able to repeat it word for word, but rather, one he’d skimmed through and bartered for because of the discussion of the nature of mage energy in the first place. 

He cursed himself for a fool because now he distinctly remembered a chapter titled _Of the Nature of Healing and Energy Inflicted Wounds._  

“Lady Leslie, I have an idea.” He explained the text and what he recalled from it. “I think there may be some residual energy from that blast that’s still festering in Tim’s wound. Your healing magic should be able to cleanse this if you know what you’re lookin’ for.” 

The healer pursed her lips as she thought, eyes locked on the burned flesh on Tim’s chest. “That’s just it, Jason. I don’t know what I’m looking for. And I’m not sure Lady Zatanna would be able to assist me as she is no healer.” 

“Neither am I.” Still, he had to try. Taking Tim’s hand in his own, he turned inward, seeking out his bond with Tim. Had it only been a few days since he’d been claimed? Barely a week at most by how humans measured time. The sense of calm and peace that came from the overwhelming rush of green earth magics still lingered, blending with his own airy magics in a way that raised him up higher than he’d ever flown before. 

It made finding the small patch of wrongness easy, faint though it was. A taint, dark and putrid, no doubt caused by that bitch’s blood magic. 

He sighed heavily, angered that he could do nothing. For all his study on earth magics, healing was the one realm where he knew very little. “I’ll get that book and bring it back here.” 

Leslie picked up Tim’s other hand and rubbed it soothingly. “How long will it take you? I heard Lord Drake was gone for months.” 

“At my fastest speed, assuming I don’t need to detour around a storm, two days.” It pained him more than anything to leave Tim, but there was no one here who knew what needed to be done to save him. If this was what he had to do, then he’d do it. 

“That is…incredible.” Leslie gazed upon him with wonder in her old eyes. “I can keep Lord Drake stable for that long.” 

He leaned over and brushed the hair back from Tim’s forehead, checking automatically now for his fever. His lips brushed the still too warm skin. _“I will return for you, my fire. My flame. My treasure. There is nothing in this world that can stop me from resuming my place by your side.”_  

The elvish words slid from his tongue easier than the human language he’d been speaking for months, conveying a deeper emotion and connection that human speech simply wasn’t capable of. Tim would understand, one day. He’d make sure of it. 

Rising, he glanced out the open window, instinctively gathering threads of air and listening to what they told him. Clear skies, fair winds. Nothing that would immediately impede his journey west. 

“Lady Leslie, I leave Tim in your hands. I’ll be back in a couple days.” 

“Where the hell are you going?” a new voice charged accusingly from the doorway. “I thought you loved Tim and here you are leaving him when he’s like this?” 

It was the Kandorian prince, Kon-El. With him was Dick Grayson. Neither man appeared pleased with what he’d just said. 

“Explain, dragon,” the new duke said in a firm tone that spoke volumes. “We’re obviously missing something here.” 

It was Leslie who spoke up first. “Good, I’m glad you’re both here. I’ll need assistants to help care for Lord Drake while Jason is gone. He’s fetching a book that explains how to heal magic induced wounds since I can’t seem to do a thing about this one.” 

The healer’s words removed the winds from the Kandorian’s and the duke’s sails faster than if he’d summoned them himself. 

“What do you mean?” Kon-El protested. “You’re supposed to be the best healer in all the lands.” 

“How limited your range of understanding must be if you think Lady Leslie is the best, you ridiculous human,” he stated, blowing smoke in the prince’s direction. “She is talented for a human, don’t get me wrong, but she still has much to learn.” 

To his surprise, Leslie did not appear offended in the slightest. “Healing is an art where the learning process never ends,” she agreed. “Which is why I’m most eager to see this book you’re speaking of. And so is Lord Drake for that matter, so please, get going.” 

Kon-El protested more as Leslie yanked him in beside her and started explaining what she expected him to do in his stead. He took one last look at his treasure, at his pale skin tinted pink with fever, at the fresh bandages over his burn. This was not a good-bye. Not in the slightest. He would return and soon. 

Grayson did not budge from his place by the door, not until he passed him by and followed him out into the hall and down the stairs. 

“I’m going to assume things are bad if you’re willingly leaving Tim’s side,” the dark haired man said. 

“They are,” he replied, taking a side door out into the garden where he inhaled deeply. The fresh air had an herbal hint to it, one that cleansed his own senses. “I have a book back home that may be able to help Lady Leslie figure out what to do next.” 

“I see.” Grayson kept pace with him as they headed toward the main courtyard. “I don’t like having to ask this, but I will. You are coming back, right? This isn’t some excuse to leave and let us _ridiculous humans_ tend to our own problems?” 

He had Tim’s mentor pinned against the side of the castle wall in moments, growling fiercely as he tried to contain the fire that wanted nothing more than to erupt forth and burn the man to ashes. “You know not of what you speak,” he managed to say. “Tim is part of _my_ hoard now, _mine_ to claim, _mine_ to care for. If I didn’t think the flight would kill him, I’d have already strapped him to my back and flown to the City of Stars so an elven healer could take care of him.” 

Rather than cower in fear before a raging dragon, Grayson stood his ground, meeting him eye for eye despite the tattooed arm pinning him in place. “Good. Glad to hear it. Tim is my little brother in all but name, so if there is anything I can do to help him, I will.” 

He snorted, sending more smoke curling into the air. “You have a death wish, human.” 

“If I did, I wouldn’t have married a Tamaranean princess. They don’t come any livelier than that.” 

This man was utterly infuriating, and he could now see why Kori was so infatuated with him. He did not scent of fear in the slightest, was just as calm and collected as he’d been when they started this conversation. It was a trait he’d passed down to Mar’i, except hers still had the guise of childlike innocence in the face of the unknown. 

He snorted again and released the new duke. “No, they don’t. You can live for now, Grayson, if only because I happen to actually like your wife and daughter.” 

“I take it you’ve met them, then?” Grayson asked with an easy grin. 

“Yeah, I have.” He realized that Tim hadn’t had a chance to speak with his mentor about their journey yet. Their meeting the other night was focused more on the Drakes and their crimes. Unless Grayson had spoken to Helena or Kon-El, he wouldn’t know this. “Your wife is one of the most gorgeous beings I’ve ever met, and most men would be afraid to leave her alone for as often as you do, so you’re lucky she can take care of herself. Mar’i is fuckin’ adorable and already knows a hella lot more than people seem to give her credit for.” 

“She gets that from her mother,” was Grayson’s response, but his dark blue gaze sharpened as he reassessed what he knew about his family. 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” he replied, walking out the gates of the inner courtyard into the outer one where he and Tim arrived. There was much more space for him to shift here, as well as for the power he bled each time he changed form. As much as he loved being able to take other forms, the energy waste annoyed him. 

His stomach rumbled too, reminding him that he still hadn’t eaten as much as he needed to replenish his energy stores. 

Well, at least restoring his true form wasn’t too bad. 

“Jason,” Grayson said, catching hold of his arm above the elbow. “I meant what I said earlier. Is there anything I can do to help?” 

He glanced back over his shoulder at the man. “Have at least few cattle ready for me to devour when I get back. I’ll be starving and probably won’t be able to shift into this form until after I eat.” 

As it was, he’d have to take the time to find something to tide him over. Gods above, was it too much to ask for all this shit to have gone down when his stomach was full? 

Grayson nodded firmly. “Will do. Good luck.” 

He returned the nod and strode off down the center of the courtyard, already loosening the hold on the magics that kept him in this form. It was much like molting, he’d observed over the years since he’d gained this particular skill. His skin felt tight, like he was wearing clothing that was too small, and itched horribly. Light rippled from within, embracing him fully before expanding in size. Even like this, he continued walking, pausing only when he was forced onto four legs instead of two. 

That meant he could run. 

He did, and unfurled wings that felt as though they’d been trapped for far too long. Gaining speed, the light disappeared, and he thundered toward the far gate, chortling to himself as the guards scrambled, shouting in fear. 

This did not grow old. At all. 

There was no way he’d be able to get off the ground without a longer run. That simply wasn’t possible here, so he wove strands of air to help, giving him the lift he needed sooner so that he could clear the outer walls. His splendid wings beat strongly as he took to the air, rising higher and higher into the sky. He banked hard, turning away from the city below. 

Bruce may have issued an edict stating that the dragon currently staying in Wayne Castle wasn’t a threat, but that didn’t mean a superstitious populace would enjoy seeing him in the clear light of day. 

And it was a clear day. He reveled in the wind and the sun against his scales, rolling and stretching as he adjusted his course even more. While it was true his den was far to the west of Tim’s former home, farther than any human could reasonably travel in a short period of time, his instinct to protect his hoard still reared its head. Veering a bit south would throw anyone off his route, at least until he was high enough to where human eyes would no longer be able to make him out against the sky. 

The air was cold at these heights, and the prevailing winds did not favor him. But he pressed on, correcting his course only when he felt he was far enough away from Gotham. 

Then, he called on the power granted to him by the discovery of the second part of his true name, the one that no one knew, not even J’onn. The winds were his to command and he did, parting the streams of air so that he could fly between them instead of wasting time and energy fighting against them. 

~*~*~ 

The sun was low in the sky when he reached the lands surrounding his den. It had taken longer than he’d hoped to arrive as he’d had to fight his way through a storm cell. He was tired and near to starving, which could excuse the way he crashed through the trees, falling upon a small herd of dear. They were fat from their autumn foraging and he killed two in short order, eating them both. 

Returning to his den, he tested his wards to ensure nothing had been breached during his absence. Everything was as it should be, which pleased him greatly. He used what he called the _back entrance_ to gain entry, the mouth of the roughly hewn cave large enough for his current form. It was tempting to shift again and make his way into his inner sanctum, to take a well-deserved nap in the bed he and Tim had shared, wallowing in the old scent that even now tickled his snout. 

But he couldn’t waste the energy, even after his partial meal. It was enough to keep him going, provided he also slept, which he fully intended to. 

So he curled up on the rocks and went to sleep, dreaming of when he would return here with his treasure, his flame. His mate. 

~*~*~ 

The soft twitter of early morning birds roused him from his slumber. He stretched and yawned, a small burst of fire licking the air. As much as he didn’t care for sleeping without Tim by his side anymore, he’d slept well. 

Now he just needed to retrieve what he’d come here for. Closing his eyes, he pictured his hoard, his precious library. There was a method to his categorization, one that allowed him to find whatever he needed in a moment’s notice. Weaving threads of air, he reached out and pulled the book from the shelf. The currents brought it to him and held the tome before his eyes, flipping pages as he ensured he’d found the right one. 

Yes. This was it. He rumbled in satisfaction and used the threads to fetch a large sack that he used on occasion when he flew home with his newest treasures instead of walked. Tim would be amused to see this, he thought. The sack and the ropes he used to wrap it securely to his foreleg were all well and good for books but was definitely not appropriate to carrying a human around. 

It annoyed him on some level that Tim would have to ride him again like he did his precious Robin. He was not a beast of burden, was not bound to the commands of a rider. His mind was his own, fuck you very much. Still, he knew his chosen did not view him as such, not at all. They were equals and, if anything, he was the one who had to convince Tim of that fact. 

The sack was disturbingly light, so he spared a moment to summon a few more books, ones that would keep him entertained during Tim’s convalescence. It was a shame he didn’t have the time to stop by Drake Manor to retrieve the ones he’d left there. That would have to be rectified and soon. 

Satisfied with his collection, he left his cave and restored the wards and illusions that kept his hoard safe. He really did need to learn how to maintain that pocket dimension spell the soul mage Raven gave him. She said it was simply practice, but he was getting tired of losing things to the void. If he could get it right, then he’d be able to take his hoard with him wherever he went. 

He was soon airborne and with the winds at his back, he boosted himself to even greater speeds, flying faster than he ever had before. It was wonderous even to him and he opened the bond between himself and Tim in hopes of sharing his joy. The human took such delight in flight, his study of wings and aerodynamics being what truly brought them together. A day would come where they would figure out a way in which to ride the winds as one. 

It was weak, but he felt a pulse from his chosen, a conscious acknowledgement that Tim was here with him, if only in spirit. 

_I am returning to you, my heart. You will be well soon._

_I know._  

~*~*~ 

The sun was greeting the western horizon when he arrived in Gotham. He came in from the north, out of sight of the city to land once more in the massive outer courtyard of Wayne Castle. There were still shouts from the guards, but no one attempted to shoot him this time, which was a shame. He would have liked to light the arrows on fire. 

A human form raced toward him. It was Princess Helena, another person he felt he could grow to like. She was smart, saucy, and had no qualms about putting the Kandorian in his place. 

“Welcome back, Jason!” she called out, stopping several feet away from his crouched form. “Did you find it?” 

“Of course, I did,” he rumbled. “How is Tim?” 

“Holding on. He woke up earlier when I was with him. Said he had a dream that he was flying.” Helena grinned as she spoke. “I wonder why?” 

He snorted, turning his head at the last moment to send the jet of smoke off to the side rather than in the young woman’s face. “You tell me.” 

Rising from his crouch, he started walking toward the inner wall, Helena running to keep up with him. “Are you able to write in this form? Dick, Kon, and I have been wondering how to get the text translated for Leslie.” 

“I can’t, but it doesn’t stop me from translating. I figured someone around here could write until I’m able to shift and take over.” 

The wall was just high enough he couldn’t step over it, so he backed up a few steps to get a running start and sprang over it, using his wings to guide his landing. The guards cheered and a few even clapped. 

Helena was laughing when she rejoined him, having taken the more mundane route. “You looked like a cat when you did that. A winged cat, but still!” 

It would be insulting if he didn’t already know his body structure reminded many of a feline. A fact that would be proven yet again as his stomach made itself known. “Did Grayson arrange for my meal?” he asked, pausing in uncertainty over which direction to head first, the kitchens or the infirmary. 

“He did. There are three steers waiting for you over there.” The princess pointed toward a makeshift pen at the far side of the inner courtyard, far away from where he would disturb any of the other beasts kept inside these walls. “After you eat, meet me over by the infirmary gardens. I’ll fetch my writing desk. My handwriting is much better than Dick’s or Kon’s.” 

This was very likely true, and he nodded, his nostrils already filled with the scent of fresh beef. It was not a meat he allowed himself to enjoy all that often as raiding human pastures was something only the young and foolish dragons did to prove how bold and brave they were. Well, he might be young still, but he’d never been foolish. 

Much. K’hym would say otherwise. 

Cattle were brainless enough that it was easy to hypnotize them into submission and allow him to eat without them bellowing in fear. It was a handy trick and one he didn’t use all that often since he much preferred the hunt and dropping down on his prey from above like the apex predator he was. 

Still, he couldn’t help but notice he had an audience when he was done, guards and a few stable hands casting surreptitious glances in his direction. He grinned toothily and belched a flame into the air. They all scurried away, some faster than others. One man even tripped.

_Humans._  

It was a tight squeeze between the ramparts and the castle wall, but he made it and found a spot to settle down right in front of the gate leading into the healer’s garden, which was a courtyard in and of itself on the west side of the castle. He sighed, wanting nothing more than to take a nap after the long flight and his satisfactory meal. But there was work to be done and he would not rest until it was completed. 

Leslie was waiting for him. Her old eyes watched as he came to a rest and wove a strand of air to open his precious bundle. “I must say, Jason, you are most impressive. In all my days, I never thought I’d ever see a real dragon.” 

“I’m as real as they come.” He pulled out a book only to discover it was the wrong one. So was the next one. “How is Tim?” 

“Resting. The infection is growing worse. I’ve had to cleanse it half a dozen times since you left. I’ve never seen a regular infection behave this way, so there has to be something to your theory about it being magically induced.” 

“And by a blood mage on top of that.” He found the correct book finally and put the others away. 

“Is that it?” Leslie sounded almost eager, so he directed the thread of air to open it before her. 

“Yeah.” 

She studied it, reaching out to turn a page and paused, glancing up at him for permission. He nodded, and she delicately flipped through it. “I’ve never seen a book that was entirely in elvish before. The script is beautiful.” 

“Out of all the languages I can read, it’s definitely the most pleasing to the eye.” Draconic was a very close second, and he believed it was because the written form of his language was closely derived from elvish script. That somewhere far in the past, one of his ancestors decided draconic needed to be written down and used a language that already had letters to puzzle out how to make it happen. 

J’onn approved of his theory, the one time they’d spoken about it. 

Helena came bustling out the garden gate, carrying a portable writing desk. Grayson was with her, carrying a lantern and some cushions. “I wasn’t sure how long this would take,” she explained, as the newly minted duke set the cushions on the flagstones where they took a seat. 

“It’s already on the dark side, crammed in here,” Grayson added. “Do you have enough light, Helena?” 

“Not for long, but I don’t need much to prepare the ink.” The princess had changed out of her dress and into more sensible clothes, britches and a tunic, much like what Leslie wore. 

“How about you, Jason?” he asked. “Or do you make your own light?” 

Rather than answer the question, he spun three magelights into existence and sent them dancing around. 

“Well, I feel rather useless now,” Grayson said, shaking his head as he watched the spinning lights. 

“You can hold the book.” He tugged gently at the strands and Leslie released the tome so that it could be repositioned in front of Tim’s first mentor. “You managed to sit in just the right spot to be useful.” 

He could have held the book himself, as well as kept the magelights going easily, but why waste the effort if he didn’t have to? 

“Like this?” Grayson carefully took hold of the book and turned it around, holding it open in front of his chest. 

“Yeah.” He wove one last strand to turn the pages to the right place. 

To his surprise, Leslie settled down beside Helena, who scooted over so that they could share her cushion. “Lord Drake is my only patient right now and it’ll be at least an hour before I need to check on him. This old bird will need all the help she can get to learn this.” 

He nodded, understanding immediately that some of the concepts contained within these pages were very much outside the scope of a healer. “You can stop me anytime with questions.” 

Helena dipped her pen into the ink she’d finished preparing and held it over the paper. “Whenever you’re ready, Jason.” 

He started reading. “Of the Nature of Healing and Energy Inflicted Wounds…” 

~*~*~ 

It took hours to finish the translating. Leslie left to tend to Tim and returned, giving a status update that had them all finding new energy to push through the night. The infection was no longer on the surface of the wound but was burrowing deeper within his weakened body. 

He wanted to roar and send his pain and frustration into the darkened sky. His chosen needed him and he was trapped here, still unable to return to his alternate form, but Grayson brought him back onto task, prodding him in a way that reminded him of J’onn. It must be a father thing. 

As an excuse to light something on fire, he spun heated lights for the humans after Helena quietly asked Grayson to fetch her a cloak as the night grew colder. 

Finally, as the midnight bell rang in the city below, they finished. 

To his eyes, Leslie and Helena both looked exhausted. The princess bent her wrist this way and that, loosening muscles that had to be sore after hours of work while the healer studied the freshly sanded pages. 

“I’ll recopy this for you, Leslie,” Helena was saying. “I made notes on some scratch paper of your questions and Jason’s answers that I’ll include too.” 

“I appreciate that, thank you. For now though, this will do.” 

She made to get up and stumbled, Grayson quickly coming to her side to help her. “I think you need some sleep, Lady Leslie,” he said, full of concern. 

“No, I need to look in on Lord Drake.” The healer shook her head. “If I can even make a start on this tonight, it will make all of our lives easier in the morning.” 

He let the humans bicker, turning his attention up to the lighted window overlooking the garden. In it, he saw the Kandorian looking right back at him. Kon-El appeared just as tired as the others. It occurred to him that as Tim’s best friend, this man very likely spent the better part of the last two days by his chosen’s side, taking his place to care for him in his stead. 

Shit, that meant he owed Kon-El a favor. Dammit. 

~*~*~ 

It took all night to finally regain the energy needed to change forms. To say he was cranky about that was putting it lightly. 

Kon-El’s eyes appeared more sunken and dark than they had the night before when he finally made his way into Tim’s sickroom, the scent of infection redolent in the air. 

“Morning,” the prince said as he took a seat on the other side of the bed. 

He grunted, his attention solely on Tim. The fever was about the same from what he could determine, but unlike almost all the other times he’d checked, his chosen opened his glassy eyes at his touch. 

“Welcome back,” Tim rasped, trying to take his hand. 

He gave it over, gladly. “Hey, you. I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.” 

“Of course, I did. It hurts less when you’re here.” 

Well, fuck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know our bond could do that.” For good measure, he lowered his barriers and released the searing heat of his fiery soul, letting it race along his connection to Tim, seeking out and mingling with the weak green of his aura. 

Tim closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, relaxing under the unseen touch. “It feels different than yesterday. When you were flying, it was… cooler. Airier.” 

“I was in my element,” he said. “I’m a wind master.” 

His treasure laughed faintly. “That means nothing to me.” 

He leaned over and pressed his lips to Tim’s brow. “I know. I’ll explain it when you’re better.” 

Tim wet his lips and Kon-El was there with a goblet of what smelled like plain water. “Nice to see you this aware of things. Whatever Lady Leslie did last night seems to be helping.” 

Through his open bond with Tim, he sought out the taint he’d found the other day. It was still there but felt more contained now. “I’ll agree with that. You been awake at all to hear what’s been going on?” 

Kon-El shook his head. “He’s been in and out since you left, mostly delusional and in pain. I’m not even going to pretend that I understand what you guys have going on, but as soon as you landed last night, he finally settled down and went to sleep.” 

He growled low in his throat. “No one told me that.” 

“Why would they when there was nothing you could do?” Kon-El shot right back at him. “You made it pretty clear to Dick and Leslie that you weren’t at full strength, that after whatever you did to get Tim here, then the fight with Janet, you were tired, even if you were putting up a front that said otherwise. It wasn’t a huge surprise this trip to wherever wiped you out completely. You needed to sleep and recharge.” 

There was the perception Tim claimed his friend had. He decided he didn’t like it turned on him. “I still should have been told last night,” he snapped, but before he could continue, the grip on his hand tightened and he turned his attention to his treasure. 

“Knock it off, Jason,” Tim said, his pale blue eyes weary and blood-shot. “They were only doing what they thought was best and if you haven’t eaten or really rested since we got here, then I’m glad you did finally. I’m getting better now. Slowly.” 

“Slowly,” Kon-El echoed and raised the goblet again for Tim to drink. “Just wait until Leslie checks your bandages. Then you’ll really understand what we’ve all been dealing with.” 

~*~*~ 

By that evening, it was clear that Tim was finally on the mend. His fever hadn’t broken, but it was much lower than it had been, and the infection was nowhere to be found when Leslie checked his bandages that night. The information from the book he’d retrieved had done it. That taint, a final parting gift from that bitch, was gone. 

The old healer sat back in her chair, smiling faintly. “Well, this certainly looks much better.” 

Tim was still slightly green around the gills from the sight of the gaping burn wound on his chest. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

Laughing, he helped his chosen sit up so Leslie could rebandage him. “Trust us, Tim. Some of the shit we were draining from you made even me want to puke.” 

“It was quite foul,” the healer agreed. “Now, just because you’re feeling better doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods quite yet, Lord Drake. I’m not letting you return to your rooms until this fever breaks. If we’re lucky, it should by morning, but you have a tendency for it to spike at night, so we’ll see.” She turned her attention to him. “Jason, make sure he drinks something every few hours and if he needs to relieve himself, he can use the chamber pot if you assist him.” 

“Sure. Sounds like fun.” 

Leslie stood slowly, his nose picking up the scent of her own exhaustion. He would need to do something nice for her after all the work she’d done to help Tim. Perhaps he’d translate the entire book for her and add his own notes in an appendix or two. She’d expressed an interest in learning more and who was he to deny her that request? 

“When Lord Drake is in the clear, I’ll expect you to report to me for your own lessons.” 

Tim perked up at this. “What’s this?” 

“Your beloved dragon has no clue how to take care of a sick or injured human. You’ve got at least a month before that wound properly scars over, even with my help, so Jason is taking this time to learn what he can before you leave on your next big adventure.” She cast an amused gaze in his direction. “Unless that’s changed?” 

He growled petulantly, not that anyone but Tim would know it for what it was. He’d been hoping for an extra couple of days to spend with his chosen, just the two of them so they could further explore their bond, but apparently this would have to wait. “It hasn’t. I still think you humans are pathetically weak.” 

Leslie’s eyes glinted fiercely. “By the time I’m done with you, Jason, you’ll be singing a different tune.”

  


End file.
